


5 Times Hawke Went to Varric + 1 Time He Went to Her

by muhreenah



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author is Allergic to Feelings, Canon Compliant, Hawke sleeps with everyone, Multi, canon amounts of angst, except Merrill bc she's too pure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-08 22:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10397391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muhreenah/pseuds/muhreenah
Summary: Sometimes, you just need a shoulder to cry on. Varric doesn’t know when Hawke decided he was hers.





	1. Carver

**Author's Note:**

> This fic follows DA2 pretty well/is canon compliant/mirrors my latest playthrough, so expect some feels, but also silliness. Because that's what Kirkwall is all about, in the end.

They hadn’t been back in Kirkwall for a full hour before he found her entertaining patrons in various stages of inebriation downstairs at The Hanged Man.

 

“...and we didn’t even have time to catch our breath before this huge rock demon thing just came out of _nowhere_ and started trying to talk his way into our meat suits. He didn’t get five words out before he met the business end of my staff!” Hawke gesticulated wildly with her drink, spilling liquid out onto her audience.

 

Drunk Hawke was never a good sign - property damage was usually imminent - so Varric plastered his patented charming smile onto his face as he strode down the stairs.

 

“Come now, Hawke, we all know that the story-telling should be left to me. Not really your forte.”

 

Hawke swung around with an almost manic grin. “Varric! About time you showed up, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

 

“If you’d’ve made it up the stairs, you’d have found me. You know, in my room. Where I live.”

 

She waved him off. “Yes of course, but the masses were desperate for my latest heroic tale! In fact, why don’t you join me, I’m not embellishing _near_ enough-”

 

Deflection. Another bad sign. “Actually, why don’t we speak in private?”

 

Her smile froze in place on her face. _Uh oh. Abort._

 

“That’s it for today folks”, he said in a raised voice to the crowd surrounding them, “I’m stealing Hawke away. Don’t pass out in your own vomit!”. He received a small chorus of boos and one rather loud raspberry.

 

Varric wrapped an arm around Hawke’s waist as she stumbled towards his room, speeding up a bit when she started shaking.

 

“She kicked me out,” she blurted as soon as he’d bolted the door, “Gamlen locked the door in my face, and she was just-”

 

Varric watched in muted horror as Marian Hawke burst into tears.

 

“Shit, Hawke, don’t cry. Come on, deep breaths.” He sighed as she flung herself at his chest, sinking to her knees and burying her face in his tunic. “Well, this shirt needed a wash anyhow. Just...shit, let it out Hawke. And when the waterworks stop, feel free to tell me what the hell happened. You didn’t even cry when we left Carver with the Wardens.”

 

Hawke sniffled. “Maker, I’m sorry Varric. I just- I couldn’t keep it together any more. The Deep Roads happened, and I already feel guilty, and then I had to tell Mother, and then _she_ started crying, then she was swearing, then...she _blamed me_ , Varric. She cursed me for taking her last baby from her. Like I’m not...but she’s right, of course. I should have never let that idiot come with us. Stupid, stupid..”, she trailed off, her voice muffled as she turned her face into him.

 

“Hawke,” Varric said firmly, tilting her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes, “none of this was your fault. You know known the Blight would get him. You couldn’t’ve known we’d be down there for longer than we planned. You tried to-”

 

“Oh Varric,” Hawke startled, tears framing her wide blue eyes, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think- Bartrand- you must be-”

 

Varric grimaced. “Don’t worry about it, Hawke. My people are already working on tracking him down. I can handle it.”

 

“No, I- it was selfish of me to come here and expect you to deal with my problems when you have your own,” she murmured, lowering her eyes, “I’m not the only one who lost a brother in the Deep Roads.”

 

Varric stared at her in disbelief; the woman was an enigma. The woman he’d nicknamed Chuckles in his head had shown more genuine emotion in the past five minutes than she had in the months he’d known her. She had laughed and drank and appeared to have accepted her only remaining family disowning her, had joked her way through her final exchange with her brother, and yet here and now, on her knees before him, sober but for the alcohol on her breath, perceptive and vulnerable and so very- nope. _Nuh uh_ . But even he, the dwarf who had to read people like his life depended on it, couldn’t quite figure her out. Who was this woman? _What_ was Hawke?

 

He looked down in wonder as the former gem of the Red Iron wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve, evening her breathing out as she tucked Marian away and pulled Hawke back together.

 

She let out a huff of breath as she rose to her feet. “Well, that was embarrassing. Let’s never speak of this again, shall we? I’m off to check in with Aveline. Well, maybe a bath first...”

 

Varric watched her in wonder as she swayed calmly back down the stairs.

 

_Well shit, Bianca, what did I get myself into this time?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Isabela


	2. Isabela

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place near the beginning of Act II, immediately after Isabela leaves the mansion.

“Varric. Varric? _Varric_ , I know you can hear me.”

 

The dwarf in question rolled his eyes and dipped his quill in ink before continuing his letter.

 

He felt more than heard Hawke move closer as she tried to read over his shoulder. “Well, whoever ‘N. Diedrich’ is, I’m sure they won’t mind if you postpone your letter for just a few minutes, will they?”

 

Varric sighed. “They would, actually - I’m fairly certain the executioner needs to be notified of cancellations in advance - but luckily for you, I’m an excellent multitasker. What’s pressing matter requires my attention this time, Hawke?”

 

“I finally fucked Isabela!”

 

Varric’s quill snapped in his fingers. _Oh. Ahem. Well then._ He swore, rummaging in a drawer for his spare.

 

“I wasn’t aware you two were, ah, seeing each other,” Varric said carefully, still trying to blink the image of Isabela and Hawke out of his eyes.

 

She laughed, leaning a hip against the desk next to him. “Oh, we aren’t anything officially. Just friendly stress-relief buddies, apparently. It’s just that it’s been _months._ But I suppose she picked up what I was laying down.”

 

“What,” Varric snorted, his chest tingling, “a pouch of pebbles?”

 

Hawke punched his arm good-naturedly, causing him to grumble as his quill skirted across the parchment. “You know what I mean, you dolt. She’s just so...ugh. No pants! What was I supposed to do, _not_ try to bed her?”

 

“Surprisingly, that method works for some of us,” he murmured wryly.

 

At her silence, Varric looked up from his letter to find Hawke looking at him in clear surprise.

 

“What?”

 

“I guess I just assumed you two did it ages ago.”

 

“I- Excuse me?!”

 

“It’s just...chest hair?”

 

“Andraste’s tit’s, Hawke, have you heard of flirting?”

 

“Nah, you know me - subtle as a horde of darkspawn.”

 

Varric let out a laugh that definitely didn’t sound like a choke. “That much is true. Look, Hawke, Rivaini is gorgeous and all, but I’m taken. You know that.”

 

“Oh yes,” she said, rolling her eyes, “how could I forget Bianca? Monogamy sounds so dull, Varric. And I know Isabela is always willing to help out a friend in need. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind-”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“Are you sure?” Hawke asked, pouting, “I had hoped you might join us next time.”

 

Varric frowned and definitely didn’t imagine _that_ . “I don’t _do_ casual, Hawke. Especially not with friends. Thanks, but no thanks.” Cutting off whatever awkwardly serious apology she had, he added, “And besides, I wouldn’t want to ruin the sexual tension. It’s what keeps me going.”

 

She smirked. “I knew it! You _are_ hot for her.”

 

 _Yeah, it’s_ her _I have the problem with_.

 

“You caught me. Don’t tell Bianca,” he said drolly, turning back to his letter.

 

Hawke pushed off his desk with a wink. “Don’t worry, Varric, your secret is safe with me. I’ll leave you to your business.”

 

“How gracious of you. And Hawke," he called after her retreating figure, "Congrats on the sex.”

 

“Thank you, Varric!” she replied over her shoulder as she paused in the doorway, “You’re always there when I need you.” 

 

She disappeared into the tavern, and Varric let out a shaky breath he hadn't been aware that he was holding. He set his quill down, burying his face in his hands.

 

“Yep,” he mumbled, “that’s me. Ser Varric ‘Dependable Friend’ Tethras. _Idiot_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Fenris


	3. Fenris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not every conversation is easy. Mid-Act II.
> 
> (apologies in advance for awkward/choppy feels convo - I'm about as emotionally adept as Hawke..)

 

“Varric?”

 

“Yes, Daisy?”

 

“Do you think Hawke is okay?”

 

Varric looked over his shoulder to where Hawke was angrily beating bushes aside to find hidden paths, Aveline hovering over her like the mother hen she was. “Why Daisy, what could possibly make you say that?”

 

The elf considered his question, her eyes narrowing as she tracked the sullen mage. “Well, she was particularly ruthless with that last batch of raiders. And she's usually a bit more kind with plants. Even Ser Fluffbutt is picking up on it. She’s unhappy, and it’s making her lash out. I think you should talk to her.”

 

Varric chuckled. “I know you may think I’m reckless, Daisy, but even I don’t have a deathwish. Not today, anyway.”

 

“I’m serious, Varric,” Merrill insisted, “I don’t know what’s wrong, but she isn’t just going to magically get better. I don't know of any healing magic that can do that. She needs to talk to someone.”

 

Well, that much was obvious. Instead of her usual cheery demeanor, Hawke had turned up at his door that morning with a short _‘Got a job on the coast, you in?’_ and a look that dared him to decline. Something or someone had obviously wronged the mage, and Varric hoped whatever it was was smart enough to get the hell out of Kirkwall while it still could. As much as she hated to confront her problems, Hawke needed to get whatever it was off of her chest. Varric knew that getting Hawke to open up required either an excessive amount of alcohol or an insane amount of luck, neither of which he had on him at the moment, so he was at a loss as to how to approach the situation.

 

“Hawke’s not really one for words. Especially ones involving feelings. She just needs to let off some steam, she’ll be fine.”

 

Merrill looked intrigued. “Is that something humans do? Do they whistle like kettles?”

 

“Figure of speech, Daisy.”

 

Merrill nodded sagely as Aveline stomped over.

 

“Varric, talk to her,” the guard commanded, a crazed look in her eye.

 

“Why am I the one who has to confront the angry apostate?” Varric asked exasperatedly.

 

Aveline pursed her lips. “Because dwarves are immune to magic.”

 

“Why Aveline, I’m offended. I’ll have you know that Hawke is almost definitely house-broken. I know her Mabari is, at least, so I assume...”

 

He trailed off as a shadow descended upon them. “She’s right behind me, isn’t she?”

 

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Varric, a moment.”

 

He felt himself being yanked away, and turned to glare at the two cowards. Aveline looked vaguely relieved, and Merrill waved and blew a kiss. Traitors.

 

Hawke marched him into the opening of the cave they’d recently cleared, far out of earshot of the others. They stood there for a few minutes, Hawke glaring at a stalactite behind Varric, before the rogue awkwardly cleared his throat.

 

“So, Hawke, to what do I owe the pleasure today?” he asked in what he hoped was an upbeat tone of voice.

 

Hawke turned her gaze onto him, eyes softening a fraction. “Varric, do I-”. She paused, looking back over his shoulder before continuing. “Do you think people take me seriously?”

 

“Uh, yeah. When you summon a firestorm on an entire band of mercenaries, I think everybody kind of has to.”

 

“No, that’s not- Do you think I can be serious? Emotionally?”

 

Varric shifted, uncomfortable. “This conversation is convincing me that it’s definitely a possibility. But you aren’t normally one for ‘emotions’, Hawke. What brought this on?”

 

Hawke frowned, leaning on her staff. “Fenris.”

 

“Broody?” he asked, eyebrows raising unconsciously, “He’s why you’re all ‘death to all who cross me’ today?”

 

Her frown morphed into a grimace. “He disappeared suddenly after we killed that magister woman last week, you knew that,” she said, eyes flicking up to see his nod of confirmation before continuing. “So, I was a bit startled when he showed up at my estate last night. I was worried about him, and then he did that growly thing, we argued about his tortured past, and then he just- he kissed me. Well, I shoved him up against the wall, but he clearly started it. One thing led to another, and then...”

 

Varric’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Oh. So you two-”

 

Hawke rolled her eyes. “Fucked. Yes, Varric.”

 

He glared at her. “I was going to say _sorted things out._ No need to be crass, Hawke. I have sensitive ears.”

 

“You know that I’ve read Aveline’s copy of _Hard in Hightown_ , don’t you? You don’t have sensitive anything.”

 

“That’s beside the point. This doesn’t explain why you’re so pissy today. Was the elf a bad lay?” _I hope he was_.

 

“The opposite, actually,” Hawke replied wistfully, “Everything Bela told me about elves was true. The stamina alone was impressive, and he was surprisingly gentle, and- oh, Varric, the things that man can do with his _tongue_ -”

 

“I’m going to cut you off right there.” _Before I start imagining it._ “I get it, you had the night of your life. What happened after?”

 

The anger rushed back into Hawke’s eyes. “Apparently, _he_ didn't. He left. He said it was fine, but it made him remember...things. His past. I told him we could work through it, but he ignored me, apologized, and then just...walked out.” Her fingers, still curled around her staff, turned white in anger as she remembered. “He was afraid of remembering more, and he’d rather just forget it ever happened.”

 

“I thought you liked everything casual - ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’.”

 

Hawke frowned, her anger giving way to confusion. “So did I. Apparently, there were feelings involved this time. I as good as begged, Varric. I thought we were both on the same page. I thought we could, I dunno, be something. You know, something serious. But apparently I can’t _be_ serious.”

 

“You can banter with the best of them, Hawke,” Varric told her grimly, “But we know better than most that you’re not all fun and games. You’ve lived through some pretty tough shit. You tell jokes and flirt with everything that moves to distract you from that, but that’s not all there is to you. That’s how you cope, nothing wrong with that. But since Broody doesn’t have a funny bone in his body, maybe the elf just runs from his problems.”

 

Another frown. “So I’m a _problem_ now?”

 

“That’s not what I- shit, Hawke. Okay, look. You haven’t had a relationship before, have you?”. Hawke slowly shook her head. "Okay, let's make this quick.

 

“The first thing you need to know about relationships is that, sometimes, it’s not about you. It takes two - or more - people to make things work, and if you don’t have your shit together, sometimes it’s kinder to end things before they start. Broody has enough issues to fill Lowtown, and he probably just didn’t want to drag you into them. I know you obviously had something, but before anything else, remember that he’s your friend, too.”

 

“You’re defending him, now?” Hawke asked angrily.

 

“Maker, Hawke, let me finish! I’m saying that he cares enough about to spare you from any hurt he could cause you if things went further. He does take you seriously, Hawke. Sometimes you have to hurt the ones you love to save them.”

 

“...Bullshit.”

 

“Besides, I thought you said that you’ve read my stories - every hero gets their heart broken at least once, it’s necessary for character development. All my protagonists are very developed.”

 

Hawke snorted. “Yeah, those illustrations didn’t leave anything to the imagination.”

 

Varric chuckled. If they were back to joking, things were in the clear. He hesitated - ‘feelings’ time was clearly over - but reached up to lay a hand on her shoulder anyway. “This is life, Hawke. Feelings are a messy, unavoidable part of it. Luckily for you, so are friends. We’ll always be here to listen. Or to beat up glowing elves, whichever you prefer.”

 

She gave a small smile. “I wouldn’t say my heart was broken, exactly, maybe just bruised. But I certainly wouldn’t say no to a good-natured cold shoulder or two.”

 

“You’ve got it, Hawke. Feeling better?”

 

She sighed. “Enough. You can tell Aveline to stop worrying, by the way. I can feel her fluttering from here. Just...give me a minute, yeah?”

 

Varric smiled fondly. “Whatever you need, Hawke. Whatever you need.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Leandra


	4. Leandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of my fics are beta'd, so I'm revising them as I find errors. Also, sorry for the delay - on top of life happening, this one was just hard to write. It's a little longer than usual to make up for it!
> 
> ___
> 
> Set a week after All That Remains. This one is rough.

 

Although he had never considered himself a devout Andrastian, Varric had always had a fondness for the Chantry. (The building, at any rate - he reserved the right to judge the institution based on whose company he was in at any given time). It was a quiet place, for the most part. Only prayers and kind thoughts were allowed inside, mostly; they’d run into a few unfriendlies here.There might also have been a few instances of sneaking in to rummage through crates a time or two. Disregarding that, Varric had come to think of the Kirkwall Chantry as a safe-haven within his crime-riddled dirt pile of a city; very few people would ever think to look for him here.

 

Varric sat in a pew, staring up at a giant golden statue of The Maker, and, for the first time in a while, tried to pray.

 

_I know you’re probably very busy and everything, Your Etherealness, but you have a new arrival in your department. Leandra Hawke, or Amell, I don’t know which name she goes by. Went by. Whatever. Point being, O Holy One, she believed in you in her time here, and it would be pretty shitty of you to leave her soul hanging. So if you could, I dunno, set her up in a nice house with her husband, that’d be nice. Maybe send her kids some nice visions so they know she’s okay. I know it’d make her, them, feel better._

 

“I know you love the sound of your own voice, but you aren’t actually supposed to pray aloud.”

 

Varric jumped in his seat, shivering at the sudden breath on his ear. “Maker, Hawke, give a man some warning. I could’ve stabbed you.”

 

Thankfully, Hawke leaned back before responding. “I know you aren’t armed. And you would’ve known I was here if you weren't, I dunno, muttering under your breath,” she whispered with a ghost of a smile.

 

There was a beat of silence as her expression slid back to perfectly constructed neutrality, eyes drifting to the statue in feigned disinterest. Varric sat stiffly in his seat, still uncertain to the reason for this unexpected visit. He hadn’t seen or heard from Hawke since the day they’d lost her mother, and whatever came next sure as hell wasn’t going to involve sunshine and rainbows.

 

___

 

“May the Maker guide your soul, Leandra,” Aveline said somberly, before heading back the way they’d came to notify her guards that Hawke’s mother had been found, her murderers dealt with.

 

 _Not brutally enough_ , Varric thought with a sneer as he recovered his bold from DuPuis’s corpse, wiping it on the bastard’s rags. Hawke knelt with her head bowed over her mother, still but for the occasional shoulder spasm. She seemed too entirely too calm about the the whole ordeal, and Varric knew that with every passing second Hawke was working on repressing any and all emotion for the foreseeable future. He felt the irrational urge to hold her, comfort her, do something, but Varric knew better than to disturb the mage while she was like this.

 

Apparently, Anders had no such qualms - he lay an awkward hand on her shoulder before setting to work destroying all the texts they’d found on blood magic, while Hawke’s faithful Mabari whined quietly in the corner, sensing that his human companion needed to be left alone. Varric knew that the grief and guilt she must be feeling would be overwhelming, and he cursed the blood mages for dealing such a blow to the one woman who had any chance of dealing with whatever storm was looming over the city. Then he cursed himself for mentally categorizing his city a higher priority than Hawke. _She needs someone in her corner, now more than ever. You have to be that person._ Well, technically Anders was now supposed to be that person, but somehow the mage was more of a pragmatist than Varric. 

 

He watched as she lay her mother down gently in the blood-soaked dirt, brushing a stray hair or two from her forehead before she bent to lay a final kiss on her mother. Hawke stood slowly, the look of passive calm only faltering slightly as she turned her eyes just to the right of his face. “Varric, could you clear my schedule? I should change into something less bloody before I talk to Gamlen. Also, I’m raiding your stash, so be prepared to miss your strongest drinks.”

 

Nobody but Anders would see her for the next week.

 

___

 

“Thank you for praying for her,” she said after another minute of tense silence, “She always nagged me to come with her to hear the sermons. I stopped attending years ago, though, when we were still back in Lothering. The service was a guaranteed Templar-free hour or two, so Father always gave me and Bethany our lessons then. It became a habit to practice when Mother and Carver left every week, so even after Father...and I’ve just been too busy with trying not to die in Kirkwall.

 

I know that she prayed for me, for all of us. Carver hardly ever writes but she praised Andraste when he did. She always prayed for Father and Bethy. I never listened to her, went out and laughed in the face of danger, all that rot. Anders said that prayers don’t help those we’ve lost, and I’m not sure if I agree with him or not. But I know she still prayed for my safety, and the safety of all of you. I just want to return the favor, you know? She didn’t deserve...but I think I’ve forgotten how to pray, myself.”

 

Varric looked back somberly into his friend’s eyes as they glittered with unshed tears. “What if she hates me, Varric? She said she forgave me, but I wouldn’t. I didn’t get there in time, couldn’t save her. Couldn’t save my sister, barely saved my brother. And Father-”

 

“Hawke, don’t-”

 

She let out a mirthless laugh. “-he only died to protect me. If I hadn’t been practicing fire magic in view of the road, the patrol would’ve have seen me, and he never would’ve had to distract them while I ran back home, and he would’ve lived. They all would’ve lived without me, Varric-”

 

“-Marian, _stop this_ -”

 

“-and I can’t even pray for their souls! WHY AM I ALIVE INSTEAD OF THEM?”

 

Varric had never heard such silence.

 

“Outside. Now.”

 

Without a glance backwards, Varric stood and headed towards the stairs that led to the bell tower. He wasn’t about to hash this out inside the chantry; this was more of a rooftop conversation, anyhow. He liked to consider himself a fairly empathetic person, but he wasn’t going to put up with any of this self-flagellation bullshit. Not from her.

 

The hatch door shut with a muffled creak behind Hawke, and she came to join Varric as he rested his elbows on the railing and gazed out over his city. Kirkwall didn’t actually belong to the rogue, of course, but it seemed as though he’d gotten in the habit of claiming things he had no right to, lately.

 

Varric sighed. “Is it even worth arguing with you right now?”

 

“I thought you took me out here to scold me,” Hawke replied with a smirk, “Confess your sins and then receive a penance, or is it a punishment? Anders usually likes both when we play-”

 

Varric grimaced. “I’m not going to be able to look Blondie in the eye for at least a month. And damn it, Hawke, I need you to listen to me, because I’m only going to say this once.” He paused, turning to face her before he continued. “You’ve fucked up a lot in your life. You’ve killed a lot of people, and a lot of people have been killed because of you.” She flinched and lowered her eyes as he barrelled on. “You have a reputation as a bloodthirsty maniac, as a charming ne’er-do-well, as a hell of a lot of things you aren’t, yet not a day goes by where you’ve stopped being yourself. You see yourself as a failure, Hawke, and believe me when I say I know exactly how you feel. But I don’t give a flying fuck what you think - you’re the best woman I’ve ever known, and I’d rather crawl back to Orzammar than have you believe that the shit you’ve lived through is somehow your fault. That you’re somehow not worthy of being alive.”

 

Hawke’s eyes shot up to meet Varric’s glare with an expression of shock, the first genuine emotion he’d gotten out of her since before Leandra went missing. “Varric, I-”

 

He stepped closer, raising his head to keep eye contact. “Damn it, Hawke, you will listen to me. It was not your fault that some bigoted idiots tried to kill you for being born, nor are you to blame for a father defending his daughter. It was not your fault that an ogre got to your sister while you were busy defending yourself and three other people from the same fate. It is not your fault that your brother went into the Deep Roads, and I was there when he agreed to become a Warden, so, not your fault either. And just in case it’s not obvious enough, it is not your fault that a psychotic serial killer took your mother from you! You don’t need to pray for them, Hawke, you need to live for them!”

 

Varric had pushed into Hawke’s space during his tirade, lost in the sincerity of his words. It wasn’t often that he was anything less than sarcastic, and he must’ve subconsciously hoped that his proximity to her would somehow get his words through the mage’s skull. They were mere inches apart - Varric was breathing heavy from his speech, while Hawke was maintaining an excellent impression of a dour statue. _This is it_ , he thought, _I've pushed her too far._ She met his glare with an equal stubbornness, though Varric could detect a slight quiver to her chin. A moment later Varric suddenly found himself with an armful of the mage, her quiet sobs muffled in his shoulder. _Thank fuck._

 

He quickly returned the embrace, rubbing her back soothingly with one hand as the other drew her closer. Hawke shook as he comforted her. “I’ve got you Hawke, it’s okay. Shhh, I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. Marian.

 

This was more than a woman mourning her mother. Or mourning the rest of her family, for that matter. This was a woman who mourned the loss of everything she had, could’ve had, had life been kind to her. A woman who couldn’t accept that her life was somehow worth more than all those she fought and failed to defend. The dwarf knew, as he held her, that she was worth everything; he knew a several others who would agree with him. Because despite everything, Hawke had made a new family. Somehow, she just didn't realize it yet.

 

 _Oh, you wonderful idiot._  Varric felt his heart split jaggedly down the middle; this woman - this stupid, stubborn, beautiful woman - would almost certainly be the death of him, and he knew with absolute certainty that he’d welcome such an end with open arms. Varric would stay as long as it took Hawke to get rid of years worth of guilt and self-loathing. He'd stay there with her until she accepted that he wouldn't leave her.

 

He’d stay with her forever, until the day this Chantry crumbled around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Anders


	5. Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. This chapter is longer (and angstier) to make up for it.

 

_ “Thank you for my life. I’ll try not to make such a mess of it this time.” _

 

 

Varric squinted through the salty spray of the sea, watching his city grow smaller and smaller, the flames dimmer though he knew they grew taller. In his thirty-something years as a dwarf, Varric had never experienced such a feeling of complete and utter relief.

 

Despite everything that had happened and everyone they’d lost, She was still alive. They all were, in fact.  _ Even Anders _ , Varric thought grimly. The former Grey Warden had murdered hundreds of innocents and broken Her heart - he’d be lucky if Varric never saw him again.

 

Varric spared Kirkwall a final glance before turning back to Isabela. The pirate rogue manned the helm, confidently surveying the horizon as she plotted the best course. They had no single destination in mind, save one where the news from Kirkwall would take the longest to reach. Their sole priority was smuggling Hawke away from those who would blame her and wished her ill.  _ Which at this point is everybody _ , Varric thought grimly.

 

“I never liked Kirkwall much, anyway,” Isabela said quietly, eyes still scanning for Templar ships, “Foul booze, not to mention the sub-par brothel. Why did I bother docking there so long?

 

“I know what you mean, Rivaini. Not enough poverty and disease for my taste, what was I thinking hanging around?”

 

The answer to their questions hung in the air, unspoken. It was Her, always Her that bound them together. She’d given the most flighty and directionless people in Thedas something to stay and fight for, and while She might’ve thought it was mage rights and freedom, they had truly only stayed and fought for Her.

 

_ Hawke. Wait, where-? _

 

“Still below deck, I think, with Merrill,” Isabela said, anticipating his question. “They’re both crap healers, but even Fenris agreed he needs something stronger than elfroot for his gut wound. He took some convincing, but he agreed that he’d rather I not kill him for dying a stubborn idiot.”

 

He’d forgotten that the pirate had started some sort of relationship with the elf. The thought of Broody trapped below deck with two incompetent mages allowed Varric a dry chuckle. “Lucky bastard. What I wouldn’t give to have two women fawning over me right now.”

 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have just one? One  _ particular _ woman?”

 

The knowing look Isabela gave him was concerning. “Of course, but Bianca needs her rest right now. She put up quite the fight tonight, and she’s not as young as she used to be, you know.” He patted the crossbow still strapped across his back for emphasis.

 

“Varric, you’re deflecting. You know who I mean.”

 

“I think you took one too many blows to the head, Rivaini.”

 

“You forget that I’m as good at reading people as you are, ser dwarf. Better, actually. And besides, you have the most obvious tells when it comes to her.”

 

Varric felt too bone-tired from the night’s events to put up his usual fight. “This I gotta hear.”

 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that the heroine of your latest serial was described as a ‘raven-haired apostate with the wit of a fox and the eyes of an angel’. And you can say you look out for your friend’s, but I don’t see a night patrol staking out anyone else’s house but the Hawke estate. Also, I had to cover your back during the fight with Meredith because you were too busy watching her’s. You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

“Those aren't tells, Rivaini, those are facts. And looking out for my friends isn't a sign of anything besides friendship! If you hadn’t noticed, all of us are wanted by at least two dozen different mercenary companies. Besides, half of Thedas will now be after her, so she needs some extra protection. Nice try, Rivaini.”

 

“Did she leave? Is that why you’re scared?”

 

Varric was really not fond of the look of genuine concern on the pirate’s face, but he kept his ‘Wicked Grace’ face up for appearances. “You said she was below deck. Keep up.”

 

“Not Hawke. The first woman who hurt you.”

 

His grin fell flat. “No.”

 

“But, Varric, we all know-”

 

“I said _ drop it _ , Isabela.”

 

She frowned, concern evolving into anger. “I don’t know who she was, but you know Hawke, Varric. She doesn’t run, especially not from friends. Hell, she’s slept with half of us and she still jokes about it in company. But the two of you...And she deserves to know, especially after tonight. You know she’s hurting. We almost died, Varric; _she_ almost died. You should tell her-”

 

“Tell her what, precisely? Knew my ears were burning for a reason.”

 

“Hawke!”, Varric responded just a tad too loudly, ignoring the look Isabela was practically boring into the side of his head, “How’s Broody holding up?”

 

Her grin didn't quite reach her eyes. “Well enough, considering Merrill is singing him a ‘song of spiritual healing’. He might need a rescue before even more blood is spilled below deck.” They all winced at her attempt at a joke. It was still a bit fresh in their minds.

 

Isabela looked between the two of them and nodded almost decisively to herself as she started for the stairs. “As long as nobody touches the wheel, I think the ship can mind itself for a few. Yell if somebody starts firing at us!”

 

The hatch slammed shut behind her, taking any air of light-heartedness with it. Varric leaned stiffly on the railing, feeling rather than seeing Hawke take her place on his left. They stared out over the water in silence, watching the dim light that was Kirkwall slowly go out as it disappeared from view.

 

______________

 

 

_ “You’re giving me that look again. What are you writing this time?” _

 

_ A look, a death stare, it was a subtle difference, really. _

 

_ “So, you and Hawke...I need some details.” He  _ really _ didn’t. “Did you go down on one knee? Did she jump you? Did you swear eternal vows of love, or is this just a physical thing?” _

 

_ He really shouldn’t be doing this to himself, especially in front of Hawke, but he really hated Sundermount. Since Daisy was there too, he figured it was time for some good old fashion self-torture. _

 

_ “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” _

 

_ “Fine, but if you don’t tell me, I’m just going to have to make it up.” _

 

_ Hawke laughed, Anders smiled at her, and Varric swore his heart actually twisted a bit in his chest. Blondie was almost as big a romantic as he was, only he was worse at hiding his bleeding heart - the mage wore it pinned to his sleeve. Watching them make doe eyes at each other as they trudged up a mountain was his own personalized hell, but he’d do it everyday if she kept asking him along. Anders is the man she’d chosen, the one who had never been quiet about his feelings for her. And no matter how jealous he was - because that’s something he could finally admit to himself, he was  _ jealous _ \- Varric certainly wasn’t about to interfere. She deserved to be happy. _

 

Don’t worry, _ a sickly sweet voice inside him whispered, _ at least you’ll be there to pick up the pieces when he finally snaps. It’s not like this can last forever...

 

______________

 

 

“I was going to ask him to marry me, you know.”

 

Varric winced. “No shit?”

 

“I thought I loved him, before. Hell, he kicked Ser Fluffbutt out of bed and I actually let him! I thought he was it for me, you know?”

 

“...You said ‘thought’.”

 

She forced a laugh. “Well yes, before I realized-,” her eyes flicked to Varric, and he could’ve sworn she shook her head before continuing, “-look, I’m not an idiot. I knew something was wrong, that he was lying.” Hawke paused, then continued in a soft, strangely fond tone. “Do you know he talked in his sleep?”

 

Varric screwed his eyes shut. “You’re fucking with me.”

 

“He never spoke about.. _.that _ , I would’ve stopped all this before it…but he would, I dunno, argue with himself. With Justice, I suppose.  _ We can’t lie to her, I can’t keep doing this.  _ And then he’d wake up and act like nothing was wrong.” She drew in a shaky breath. “If I hadn’t heard him talking, I could’ve killed him.”

 

He finally turned to face her, taking in the most tragic expression he’d ever seen.

 

“Oh,  _ Hawke _ .”

 

“He killed them all, Varric. Hundreds of innocent people. _ Children.  _ And I just let him walk free! He knew I should’ve killed him,  _ expected me to do it _ , and I was too selfish to go through with it. I needed there to be just _one person_ who loved me in this damned world, and I knew he loved me, I couldn’t kill him, and now.. He’s a free man, and I’m...”

 

Varric stood still as stone, helpless to help Hawke. Although...she didn’t appear to be on the verge of tears, as he had come to expect from their post-tragedy chats. Instead, she was almost...smiling?

 

“Marian, are you alright?” he whispered, nearly as terrified as he’d been during their fight in the Gallows not an hour earlier.

 

She smiled down at the churning waters, eyes focused on monsters she couldn’t slay. “I’m not the Champion anymore! The bad guy blew up the city and walked away without a scratch! Someone notify the Qun! An apostate is more powerful than their Arishok!” She let out a horrible cracked laugh. “Can’t be a Champion if you sail away from the wreckage, can you?”

 

Varric looked on in muted horror as Marian Hawke heaved herself up onto the railing, rigging grasped in her pale fist as she leaned out over the churning waters.

 

“Marian, why- what are you doing? Get down!”

 

She ignored him, focused her fallen city, head tilted just slightly, considering. “I'm going to do the right thing, for once in my life. I’m going back to Kirkwall. It’s not fair for the Exalted March to scour all of Thedas looking for me, is it? They need to find the person responsible for letting all of this happen. Hundreds of deaths, the escape of the terrorist, the loss of the Chantry, the Circle, and an entire city? That’s all on me. It’s only polite for the Champion of Kirkwall to be there when they come to kill her.” She leaned further over the water, her grip on the rope loosening. Just a little more, and-

 

“NO!”

 

_ Klickt _ .

 

They both froze.

 

Varric slowly lowered his eyes down to Bianca, held in front of him, loaded bolt aimed at Hawke’s back. For the first time in his life, Varric let his crossbow fall from his hands, the clatter of metal on the wood of the deck faint and foreign to his ears. Something had cracked.  _ Must be the bow _ , he thought distantly. His heart was already in pieces.

 

Hawke turned her head just slightly. Varric swore her eyes were glowing.

 

“Varric. Were you going to-”

 

He was stone. This was a nightmare. This wasn’t real. He’d almost-

 

“-shoot me?”

 

The words startled a bizarre sound out of him. A laugh? “Yeah. I think I was.”

 

Time seemed to stop around them, anxious as they were to what would happen next. _ Why had he done that? _

 

“You almost- you can’t- I thought you were possessed.”

 

Hawke dropped down to the deck, still facing away from him. “I was going to do the  _ right thing _ , so you were going to  _ kill me _ ?”

 

“Of course not! I was just-, I-,” Varric started, struggling to find words to describe what the hell was going through his mind at the moment, “I know you, and I know that you don’t want to do that. That’s not you, so it had to be a demon. So I was just going to-”

 

Hawke spun around, sparks dancing around her fingers, eyes not glowing like the Abomination, Varric realized, but in anger. At  _ him _ .

 

“So you were going to, what, maim me? Control me? I’m sorry to break it to you, Varric, but you don’t know me. You DO, however, know damn well that I can’t be possessed. I’m a grown woman who gets to make her own fucking choices. If I want to be the self-sacrificing hero, I’m going to be the fucking self-sacrificing hero. I'm Marian bloody Hawke. I don’t fucking belong to anyone,” she snapped as she advanced on him, “and I don’t definitely belong to  _ you _ .”

 

As the (former) Champion of Kirkwall towered over him, Varric Tethras quickly cycled through a broad range of emotion, landing squarely at the intersection of hurt, terrified, awed, and slightly turned-on. He sent up a quick prayer to Andraste, begging for strength.  _ Tragedy makes us all a little religious, right? _

 

“No, you don’t,” he began, watching Hawke’s eyes narrow in warning, “You’re your own woman. You make the choices, you have agency, nobody decides what you’re saying or doing except for you. Got it.”

 

Hawke, not looking the least bit placated, grimaced. “Damn right. Now, explain - _why were you about to shoot me in the back_?”

 

Varric nodded slowly, not daring to break eye contact.  _ Okay, silver tongue, work with me. _

 

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

 

Hawke  _ growled _ . Varric struggled to remember exactly how grotesque Meredith’s body looked as it succumbed to the red lyrium because  _ now was really not the time _ .

 

“I know you only _ mostly _ want to actually hurt me, so I’m going to ignore that. We’ve talked about this, Hawke. You have this idiotic ‘misplaced guilt’ complex that seems to go along with your hero complex - nothing that happened tonight was your fault.”

 

She opened her mouth to object - or possibly to breathe actual fire at him - and made a sound of indignation when she found it already covered with a rough dwarven hand.

 

“This isn’t an argument, Hawke, this is a lecture. You didn’t know what that bastard was planning, so you couldn't have stopped him. Bartrand’s the one who sold Meredith the red lyrium, and you were the most uncooperative mage in the city, so you can't say you didn't try to stop _her_. And here’s the kicker, Hawke: you’ve been the self-sacrificing hero since chapter one! You’re the only one in the damned city who gave a shit about it all! You’re the only one who wanted everyone to live! You lost your home to the Blight, your family to random chance, and I’ll be damned if I let you sacrifice anything else for people who don’t give half the shit about you as you do about them. If you sacrifice your life, you become the  _ Martyr _ , Marian, and that’s not the role you were meant for! So yeah, I'd rather you stay here, safe and hating me, then give up your life for them - I'm selfish like that. But _you_ , Marian! You promised to LIVE, damn it! And I won’t lose you; not now, not like this!”

 

Varric’s voice broke on the last few words, and he found himself strangely short of breath. Hawke seemed calmer; her eyes were wide, no longer glowing, and...blurry?

 

_ Oh. Huh. _

 

“It’s not a real lecture if there aren’t tears involved,” Varric explained as he lowered his hand from her mouth. He looked down at the deck, feeling awkward and also  _ confused _ . He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually cried. Feelings were weird.

 

Varric almost jumped when he felt her hand on his cheek, wiping his tears away and angling his head up to meet her gaze. He fought against the urge to close his eyes and lean into her hand as she just barely brushed her thumb over his ruddy cheek.

 

“My trusty dwarf,” she said softly, smiling genuinely for the first time that day, “always telling me  exactly what I need to hear. Don’t worry, Varric. You won’t lose me. Not today.”

 

_Not_ ever _if I have any say in the matter_. “Well, that’s a relief. To tell you the truth, any more emotion today might honestly cripple me. We dwarves are sturdy, but you're too much woman for even me to handle.”

 

Her laugh warmed him to his core, icy sea spray be damned.

 

“Oh, we’re back to jokes, are we? Good. Maker,” she breathed, expression sobering the slightest bit, “I can’t believe it’s over. Years of work and arse-kissing, and I’m back to square one. Sorry, Varric, looks like you’ll have to rename my biography. Pity ‘Tales of the Twice-Over Ferelden Refuge’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”

 

Varric snorted. “If you think I’m including this in my book, I’ve obviously taught you nothing.”

 

“What do you mean? You aren’t going to include the fall of Kirkwall? The defeat of the mighty, gorgeous Champion?” Hawke asked, sounding genuinely offended and slightly perplexed.

 

Another chuckle. “I’ve spent the last seven years building you up as a figurehead upon which people across the Free Marches rest their hopes and dreams. Word is spreading about what happened here, sure, but my book is going to be the final say, a genuine first-hand account! So, obviously, it’s going to be almost completely fictitious.”

 

“But, why? What’s to be gained from lying about any of this?”

 

“Well, for one, my publisher has been talking about me breaking into the Orlesian market, so hopefully the Divine will read it and be so charmed by your escapades and obvious goodwill that she’ll cancel whatever Exalted March she’s no doubt organizing as we speak,” Varric said, rolling his eyes, “and it’s always helpful to end on an air of mystery. ‘The Champion sailed away with her companions, never to be seen again.’ You know, leaves ‘em wanting more.”

 

Hawke made a noise Varric took to mean  _ ah yes, what a brilliant authorial move on your part _ , then asked, “So, what was it that Bela thought you should tell me?”

 

_ Well, shit. _

 

“Mind like a steel trap, huh? Well, not me. I completely forgot, what with the feelings and the almost-murder, you understand.”

 

Hawke smirked, crossing her arms. “Nope. Out with it.”

 

Varric swallowed hard. “Well, I-”

 

_ Shit okay just say it you bloody coward what’s the worst she can do laugh- _

 

“-this is going to sound completely crazy, but I-”

 

_ I’ve been in love with you since the day we met you stupid beautiful ridiculous incredible- _

 

“-I’m going back to Kirkwall.”

 

_ Who’s the coward now? _

 

Hawke looked at him like he was crazy. “Didn’t we just have a big lecture about why that’s a bad idea?”

 

“Not now, of course. We’ll all sail around a bit, maybe stop in Orlais so I can publish my book, but, y'know. After all the chaos dies down, I should...go back.”

 

“But...why?” Hawke questioned, sounding lost and...hurt?

 

His words, uttered so long ago, came back to him with perfect clarity:  _ ‘Sometimes you have to hurt the ones you love to save them’. _

 

He really, really hated irony.

 

“It’s perfect, really. Sooner or later, certain people are going to find out what happened. Maybe they’ll even read my book! But they’ll look for you, Hawke. And my guess is that they won’t stop and ask questions first.”

 

“So your plan is to, what, dye your hair black, start carrying a staff, and answer to ‘Champion’?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hawke! We both know I’m far too pretty to be you.” She disguised her laugh as a cough. “I’m going to help with the reconstruction efforts, and - in the instance that someone comes looking for you - I’ll be in whatever’s left of the Hanged Man, ready to set the story straight.”

 

“Ready to be interrogated, you mean,” Hawke corrected, frowning.

 

“You forget, Champion, I’m a master story-teller: interrogations are just readings to a slightly more violence-prone audience.”

 

“And you forget, dwarf, that I’m no longer the Champion. I can’t Champion what isn’t there, especially if I’m not there.”

 

Hawke gazed at her city, his city- their city, remorse clear on her face.

 

“You can’t stay away forever, though. And Kirkwall has survived worse than this. You’ll both rebuild, and then you can go back to the way things were. It’ll be like nothing ever changed.”

 

She sighed. “Except that everything has changed, Varric. You can’t close your eyes and wish things back to the way they were, especially a whole city. I’ve changed too, I think,” she murmured, “We all have. And I’d like to think we’re better for it.”

 

The sun finally peeked out from behind the waves, illuminating Hawke as she faced the dawn. Her eyes were bright, her lips turned up in a wistful smile, the blood streaked across her nose almost washed away by the sea spray.  Varric closed his eyes, committing the sight to memory. He had never known such an overwhelming love, and he knew he never would again.

 

“You’ll stay, for now at least, won’t you?”

 

Varric smiled, the image he held in his mind paling in comparison to the one before him.

 

“Of course, Hawke. Neither of us are losing each other. Not today.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Do you think they’re finished talking yet? I believe I’m getting quite seasick.”

 

“Oh please, let the witch above deck, I beg you!”

 

Isabela rubbed her temple, feeling a headache coming on. “I swear, I’ll throw you both overboard.”

 

“So...is that a yes?”

 

“I suppose so, Kitten,” Isabela sighed, “It’ll take a miracle for either of them to admit they’re in love.”

 

"Well bully for them. Now for all that is good in this world, get the she-witch away from me!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that happened. Apologies if it was too much; I feel like after the big epic battle and fleeing for their lives and everything, the fallout would have to be pretty dramatic.
> 
> (Also: since this chapter was longer, there are probably more errors! I'll try and catch them all. Later. Eventually.)
> 
>  
> 
> Up last: Marian


	6. Marian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He goes to Her. Lots of swears ensue.

“Where’s Hawke?”

 

The pained and almost pitying look on Inquisitor Cadash’s face didn’t make sense. Varric’s eyes scanned the assembled crowd of Wardens and Inquisition soldiers, half expecting Hawke to pop out from behind one of them wearing the demon’s ichor on her face as a trophy. She was here, somewhere. She had to be.

 

“ _Where’s Hawke_?”

 

She wasn’t there.

 

___

 

“Inky! Howzit? Good? Thought so. Had a dream last night. Again. Fade’s a bit shit, innit?”

 

“Well, at least there isn’t any punching today.”

 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still scared, yeah? But you’re ‘fraid of spiders, so it’s all good for now.”

 

“...yes. All good. Excellent.”

 

“Glad we got that sorted. So why’s your face doing that thing?”

 

“What thing? I’m not doing a thing!”

 

“You look like you just swallowed vinegar-marinated horseshite in front of a puppy you watched get kicked.”

 

“That’s quite an image. A suspiciously specific one.”

 

“Yeah yeah, Sera’s a loony, and you haven’t answered the question. What crawled up you and died?”

 

“Varric.”

 

“HEHEH-Oh. Yeah.”

 

“Sera?”

 

“I mean, makes sense. Loved her, didn’t he? The Champion, I mean. Didn’t think so at first, what with him always avoiding the stories. Knew he was hiding something, but then she was here, and he was all heart eyes over her.”

 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

 

“Bit dick of you to joke- wait, are you serious? You’d be half blind not to see it. Following her ‘round the castle, paying for her drinks at the tavern? He laughed more ‘round her than I heard ‘im laugh in the last three months. Love makes you laugh, even at the end of the world.”

 

“I suppose it does. That was...unusually poetic of you, Sera.”

 

“Don’t look at me like that if you don’t intend on doing something ‘bout it. Rude, that is.”

 

“Sorry. Now’s not the best time, I suppose. Sera?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I made the right choice, though, didn’t I? Leaving Hawke behind. The Wardens needed a leader, and Alistair dealt with the Blight, he can help with this mess. And Hawke...well, she volunteered. She said that Corypheus was her responsibility.  She was right, wasn’t she? Varric shouldn’t blame me for that, it was her choice!”

 

“Oh, Inky. C’mere, you.”

 

“He has every right. He trusted the Inquisition, and I ordered her to stay. I all but killed her myself.”

 

“Hush, luv, you did what needed doing. But...I’ll be honest, yeah? He won’t need to forgive you.”

 

“Why d’you say that?”

 

“Well…”

 

“Sera. What did you do.”

 

“Oy, why’d I have to do something?”

 

“Because you’ve always done something.”

 

“Heheheh, yeah. Right, well, Varric’s gone.”

 

“He- what?! You couldn’t’ve mentioned this earlier? Did he say where he was going?”

 

“Well. You made it out of the Fade twice now, dwarfy and all. We’re here ‘cause I’m not there ‘cause you didn’t get left behind. Geddit?”

 

“I think...no.”

 

“I wouldn’t’ve left you in that shite hole. Well, I would’ve at first, because I thought you were right behind me, but as soon as you weren’t and I could find a mage to get me back there? Polished armor, white stag, BOOM, there’s me, givin’ it to all them Fade fuckers, and BOOM, there’s us, snogging back in the not Fade! And some other stuff..”

 

“Wait, you’re saying...Varric went to save her? But there’s no way she’s still alive, it’s been a week here, who knows how long that is in the Fade! Champion or no, she’ll be dead for sure!”

 

“I don’t think it matters to him, luv. No point in livin’ without the one that makes you laugh, yeah?”

 

“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me but I’m still mad at you.”

 

“...shite.”

 

___

  


“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-”

 

“The Maker is punishing me, surely.”

 

“-fuck fuck fuck fuck-”

 

“Yes, we’ve all been cursed with temporary insanity! Or blinded by hero worship. Jury’s still out on that one.”

 

“-fuck fuck fuck-”

 

“Hero worship? Forgive me, Dorian, but I don’t see how you and the Champion have anything in common.”

 

“-fuck demons, fuck Wardens, fuck the Fade, fuck-”

 

“Oh, besides a wit sharper than your blade, we honestly don’t. The woman looks like she dressed in a broom cupboard. Which, come to think of it, she probably did. But actually, dear Seeker, I meant you.”

 

“Me? I do not _worship_ the Champion! I mean, she’s certainly admirable-”

 

“-and fuck me for agreeing to this-”

 

“Tiny, if I hear one more ‘fuck’ from you, you can fuck off right back to Skyhold.”

 

The party fell silent, the back of Varric’s head somehow glaring at them. The Iron Bull mimed zipping his lips with more solemnity than anyone ever expected of him, while Dorian and Cassandra shared a grim look between themselves.

 

The Inquisition had won the siege at Adamant Fortress, and yet Cadash’s Inner Circle’s morale had never been lower. Those who hadn’t been with there when the party stepped out of the Fade didn’t quite understand at first. Bull and Dorian had taken it upon themselves to spread the Inquisitor’s version of events to the rest of the Inquisition, since their resident rumormonger was mysteriously absent, but Dorian let his companions know what had happened in the Fade. How Cadash was afraid of spiders, how the demon preyed upon their greatest fears.

 

How Varric had seen his own worst nightmare come to fruition.

 

___

 

Dorian had accepted instantly when Varric requested the aid of a mage in an admittedly hopeless rescue mission. The dwarf had grown on him, and although he didn’t know much about the Champion, he knew that she was the singular reason that any of this was still happening.

 

 _“Come on,_ Sparkler _”_ Varric had said _, “I know you want to go out with a_ bang _”._ Well, he wasn’t wrong.

 

_

 

Bull had watched Varric carefully upon their return to Skyhold. He’d anticipated a change in behavior, recklessness or anger, but what he observed was more of a...lack of behavior. Bull had gone to Dalish, concerned that Varric’s soul had been left behind, or worse, he had left the Fade with an extra passenger. But the elf shook her head, confirming the notion he’d initially dismissed.

 

Bull didn’t get too attached to people for this exact reason. This was a war, life was war, and war wasn’t known for being fair and keeping your loved ones safe and sound. _Damn it, Varric._

 

Even so, when said dwarf turned up in his nook of the tavern, he too agreed without hesitation.

_

 

Cassandra had almost shut them down when Varric asked for her help.

 

Varric seemed to process her response thoughtfully, or as thoughtfully as one could with unseeing eyes. Cassandra had been prepared for another argument, some clever words or even a threatening hand on his crossbow, but the sight of the dwarf simply nodding and walking away angered her more.

 

“That’s it? You’re just giving up the whole thing?” she called after him, indignant. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t - that’s not how it went in his stories.

 

He paused in the doorway. “Come on, Seeker, you know me better than that. Dramatic last-minute rescue, sidekick swoops in to save the hero...I know that’s right up your alley. Still, if you insist against it, I have enough deathroot to knock out a few guards at the rotation change.”

 

The three men had been halfway across the bridge before Cassandra caught up to them.

  
  


___

  
  
  


Unbelievably, Hawke...wasn’t dead.

 

At least, she didn’t think she was. Pretty sure, at least. But then again, time passed differently in the Fade, and it was _the Fade_ , so who’s to say she hadn’t been dead for centuries? After what seemed like years trying to find an exit and failing, she was going to be pissed if this is what the afterlife was actually like. Especially considering the literal hell she’d gone through to save people. Were they even real, though? The Fade was beginning to mess with her mind.

 

She had to keep her wits about her. Just focus on what was real for as long as she could. She’d get out. Eventually.

 

 _Well_ , she thought grumpily as she collapsed into a crouch, using the tip of her staff to write ‘ _killed the fucker_ ’ in the misty dust of the ground, _the Nightmare was real enough. Bugger took its sweet time to die, too. Just plain rude, that._ She winced as she wrote; the devil had gotten in a few good hits, and what ribs weren’t cracked were most certainly bruised. She’d have to paraphrase her thoughts, then.

 

She paused. While Hawke wasn’t sure exactly how she’d survived the whole ‘manifestation of pure fear and hatred’ thing, it had quickly become clear that she was alone. ‘ _Everyone...got...out’,_ she scribbled next, smiling wryly. _Got to be the self-sacrificing hero after all. Take THAT, Varric!_

 

Ah. Fuck. And she’d been doing so well, too, avoiding thoughts of Him.

 

In the years since their escape from Kirkwall, they hadn’t had the chance to really speak; the whole ‘fugitive’ thing meant that she hadn’t seen any of her friends, especially Varric. He’d left after only a month, without a goodbye, in order to return to Kirkwall to cover for her. All that for her sake, yet she hadn’t received more than a perfunctory ‘keep your ass away from the Free Marches’ since then.

 

Until, of course, a certain undead Magister went and put the world back in jeopardy again. It was only then that he’d sent for her, that he’d needed her. _No, not Him. Everyone. Everyone needs the Champion, nobody needs Hawke._

 

Oh, shit, she was getting _maudlin_. What would Varric say?

 

“You _idiot_.”

 

Yes, that sounded right. ‘ _Varric is always right’_ , she wrote next. She used her staff to lever herself back to her feet, ribs hindering her usual grace. She admired her list with a wry smile.

 

“If I’m always right, why don’t you ever listen to me?”, said the voice in her head in an almost pained tone.

 

Hawke chuckled. “Of course I listen to you, you bastard. You’re the one who created me; I’m just trying to live up to her. Least I can do, really.”

 

“...Well, this is awkward,” said a female voice that definitely wasn’t Varric’s.

 

So the voices _weren’t_ in her head. Lovely.

 

Hawke swung around, injuries forgotten, and readied her staff at the assembled group. _Shit._ Well, injuries remembered - she was just surprised those crap stitches had lasted as long as they had.

 

“Can’t say you lot are very original, going for the first faces you plucked out of my head, but I’ll give you points for accuracy.”

 

The demon disguised as Cassandra looked amazed, the one of Dorian looked amused, and demon Bull looked delighted. Demon Varric looked...something. She was never very good at reading his face. Best ignore that one.

 

“So,” she continued, hoping her aloof tone covered for the fact that she was shaking like a leaf, “Which one of you would like to go first?”

 

Demon Cassandra stepped forward. “We are not here to fight you, Champion, and we are not the demons you believe us to be. We are your rescue party, although it seems as though you do not need one.”

 

Hawke snorted, grimacing. “Appealing to my ego, good one. It’d work, except I’m rather keen on surviving this hellscape. Got places to go, people to see. You understand.”

 

“I assure you, we are in fact human! Well, two of us. The other two are, well, not human, but not demons, obviously!” Hawke had to hand it to Demon Dorian, he was doing an excellent impersonation of the semi-speciest Tevinter thing. “What do we have to do to convince you?”

 

“Well,” Hawke drawled, ignoring the increasingly sharp pain emanating from her rib cage, “You could not’ve chose my Qunari friend. You clearly didn’t look deep enough, he hated this place. Solas would’ve worked, but then again you probably would’ve had a harder time convincing me of being such a conceited asshole.”

 

Demon Bull threw back his head in laughter. “You’ve got me there, Hawke. I mean, I’m definitely me, but I’ll be damned if I know why I’m here either.”

 

“There, you see? There’ll be no convincing me! Sorry for wasting your time, but I really will have to kill you now-”

 

She paused, glancing down at the calloused hand that was now covering hers on her staff. Well, they’d gotten one thing right.

 

“Hawke.” Nope. That voice wasn’t playing fair.

 

“I’ll drag you out of here if I have to, Hawke. Stop being an idiot and come with us.”

 

Hawke frowned at the hand. “The real Varric would be happy to see me. Probably. You’re doing a piss-poor job of being Varric.”

 

“Yeah? Well you’re doing a piss-poor job of thanking your rescuers. You’re welcome, by the way. Some of us had better things to be doing.”

 

Hawke screwed her eyes shut. Apparently the demon was a quick-learner, pulling some essence of Varric from her memories or some such trickery. _Don’t open your eyes, Marian. They go away if you just ignore them, remember?_

 

But this Varric wasn’t dissipating impatiently or attacking like the others before it. This Varric was moving its other hand to her face, and she was leaning into the hand and it wasn’t incorporeal, it was home. Then her eyes were opening and meeting his and-

 

“Oh,” Hawke said, pain forgotten, “It really is you, isn’t it?”

 

Real Varric scoffed, the slight crinkle of his eyes betraying his genuine mirth. “No shit, sweetheart.”

 

Hawke nodded. “Right. Of course. You’re here. Let’s not be, now.”

 

She took three steps before her legs gave out, because the two bastards couldn’t give her a minute more. She grimaced as she braced herself for impact, but was yanked up backward by two surprisingly strong hands gripping tight to her hips.

 

She was slowly spun back around, careful hands trying to avoid any part of her visibly bruised or blood-covered. Varric was looking at her with that weird expression again, so Hawke resorted back to her natural comedic deflection. “Thanks for having my back, Varric. Literally. Get it? Because you-”

 

Oh. _Oh._

 

Now, she couldn’t be sure, seeing as this whole rescue scenario was unrealistic enough, but she was pretty sure Varric was kissing her.

 

“...um, guys?”

 

_Mmmm. Wait, he’s never done that tongue thing before..Maker, is it real this time?_

 

“Wasn’t she just about to collapse? Maker, talk about a second wind.”

 

_Definitely real. Yes, certainly not your imagination this time, Marian. OH that’s lovely._

 

“Oh for Andraste’s sake, avert your eyes! Let them have this moment!”

 

The small part of Hawke that wasn’t dizzy with joy or blood loss was sure that there was a better time and place for this, but the majority of her was too busy smiling against Varric’s lips and ignoring the impressive collection of blood, sweat, and tears between them.

 

“Guys, not to be a buzzkill, but Hawke is bleeding everywhere. Can we go now?”

 

Hawke made a noise of protest as Varric pulled away. His eyes widened in concern as he surveyed her condition.

 

“Well shit, Hawke. Didn’t we have a talk about you and timing?”

 

Marian tried a smirk that came across more like a grimace. _There are three Varrics now, which one can I kiss?_ “My timing is perfect,” she mumbled as she fainted in Varric’s arms.

 

The dwarf sighed fondly. “Who wants to help me with this idiot? No point in throwing out my back by sweeping her off her feet if she’s not even conscious for it.”

 

___

 

_One year later, elsewhere_

 

 

“FENRIS!”

 

“WHAT? For the love of-- _unhand me woman_ , what?”

 

“It’s happening! My job in this life is done! I can die in peace!”

 

“What in the seven hells are you talking about, wench? Did Aveline finally crack?”

 

“JUST LOOK!”

 

Fenris took the parchment from Isabela, whose grin was starting to legitimately frighten him. The formal-looking parchment was addressed to “General Isabela, esq. And Fenris(?!?)” and bore the seal of a stylized eye that had become increasingly familiar in recent years. If they were being recruited...wife be damned, Fenris was running.

 

~*~

You are cordially invited to the handfasting of Heroes of the Inquisition:

 

The (Involuntary) Viscount of Kirkwall

and

The Once and Future Champion of Kirkwall (and Thedas)

 

On the Fourth Day of Candlenights

at Skyhold, Inquisition Stronghold

 

(There will also be a celebration following the handfasting in celebration of the Inquisitor and her new wife, who got married without _telling us_ , the fuckers)

 

Kindly be there or piss off

~*~

 

“Ah. Well, at least we know this is legitimate; I doubt anyone else would use as many expletives in a wedding invitation.”

 

“We’re going. We are _absolutely_ going.”

 

“Well of course, but...you realize you’ll have to wear pants, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, dear husband, I will cover my legs for this occasion and this occasion only. Friends are worth pants.”

 

“Truer words. They deserve this, though.”

 

“Pants?”

 

“Yes. But also happiness. And each other, I suppose.”

 

“...disgusting, but true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing this, I'm like 97% sure I'm legitimately allergic to genuine emotions and healthy relationships, but what can you do? 
> 
> Soooo that's that, y'all! Thanks for sticking around; I'm not great with endings, but I am EXCELLENT with procrastination. I'll definitely be writing more of these two in the future - sarcastic idiots in love is my jam. :)


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